


Tell Me Soon

by purplebullet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One-Shot, PG-13, and fluff, idk - Freeform, kind of, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplebullet/pseuds/purplebullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was surprised when Sherlock announced he was going to write a book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Soon

John stared at Sherlock from his seat in his armchair, newspaper abandoned on his lap in favour of eyeing the man across the room, who hadn't bothered to change out of his robe despite the late hour.

“Did you just say–“

“Yes,” Sherlock interrupted him, eyes unwavering boring into John's. “Does that surprise you?”

The possibility of this news surprising John caused Sherlock to be confused. He always had the strangest reactions to the most obvious things, because who _wouldn't_ be surprised when they'd find out Sherlock Holmes was planning on _writing a book_?

“A bit, yeah,” John admitted. He couldn't imagine Sherlock being interested long enough to finish ten pages, or even one. “What's it even going to be about?”

If he were to write about correct grammar use then sure, John could see him finishing thousands of books, but somehow he felt like that wasn't really what Sherlock had meant when he'd told him about his plan. John was very curious to know what events had even led to the idea.

“Love.”

John's eyes widened far enough to hurt. “ _Love_?” he repeated, incredulous. Someone had poisoned Sherlock. There was no other explanation.

“Intergalactic love,” Sherlock said, the blank expression on his face scaring John for the first time since they'd met.

“A science-fiction novel?”

“You could say so.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in thought and nodded, as if to confirm the label to himself. John was desperate to call Lestrade and ask if they'd tested some new drug on him or something.

“All right,” he said instead, hearing his own voice waver a bit. “What's the title, then?”

Sherlock huffed, annoyed, and turned to lie on the sofa again, facing the ceiling like he'd had before he'd begun the admittedly insane conversation.

“Too tedious to think about. Waste of time and energy. You come up with something.”

“ _What_?”

Assisting Sherlock during cases and being bossed around, that was all fine with John (sort of, anyway); being bossed around with something that had nothing to do with him, was not. There were limits, boundaries, and they only went as far as the job. Writing a bloody book wasn't part of the damn job.

“You're the genius when it comes to titles,” Sherlock drawled sarcastically, eyes closing. He squirmed on the cushions to find the ultimate position. “Just don't turn it into one of your blog entries.”

“Why don't you do it yourself for a change.”

John pulled himself out of his armchair and, together with the newspaper and cup of tea, went up to his room so he wouldn't need to look at Sherlock's face for a while. From the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock opening one of his own, peeking out of curiosity due to John's unexpected reaction, but as he didn't say anything to stop him, John made his way upstairs and didn't come out of it until it was time for his date.

\--

The subject returned only a week later, when they were in the middle of a case. Or that was what John thought, at least. With Sherlock it was possible the case had been solved a couple of hours or even days ago but he'd kept silent about it for some reason, and while it annoyed John to be left out he knew his irritation wouldn't stop Sherlock from doing it. It was more likely he'd do it even more, come to think of it.

John hadn't felt like a big help, not even when he'd stated the victim's cause of death when they'd entered the crime scene two days ago, but Sherlock had made him tag along each time he went out and there was no way John would miss out on it. Even if all Sherlock did was sit on stakeouts or question suspects or look at the church the victim had been found in. The only thing John had contributed to the case consisted of useless comments about the building and speculations that were waved off by Sherlock instantly.

“Have you found a title yet?”  

John looked up from the tiles of the church's floor – in the middle they were cleaner than on the side, and he wasn't sure whether it was worth to mention it, but better be safe then sorry. The notion escaped his mind upon hearing the question, however, as confusion settled in.

“For the case?” he asked. He hadn't given it much thought, though _The Holy Murder_ sounded neat. Perhaps _The Christian Crisis_ would do well too, despite the victim not being particularly Christian.

“The book,” Sherlock clarified, eyes glued to the paintings on the left wall. John wondered if he even knew about Holy Mary.

Then he wondered why the hell he was still expected to think of a title for that bloody project. He balled his hands into fists for a moment, hoping to get rid of his upcoming frustration that way. It didn't help much, but at least he wasn't about to attack Sherlock any time soon.

“No,” he replied as calmly as he could, “And I'm not going to.”

Sherlock turned to him, his confused frown visible despite the distance between them. John figured they had about ten to fifteen chairs and a couple of meters between them, which Sherlock probably knew the correct number to since he was strange like that.

“Why not?” Sherlock asked, his voice resounding slightly.

“Because I don't want to,” John stated simply. He hoped Sherlock had taken note of the determination in his voice which meant he wasn't going to budge on this one.

“I've nearly finished it, it needs a title.”

John raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You've nearly finished writing an entire book?”

“Yes, four hundred and twenty-five pages of it. Only sixty more to go.”

“You wrote over four hundred pages in just a few days?”

Sherlock was looking at him as if he didn't comprehend the surprise in his voice. He probably wasn't acting like he didn't for John's sake, either, which made it all worse.

“Yes,” Sherlock answered slowly, almost cautiously.

John laughed. He laughed at how stupid he was to think such thing would take Sherlock months, if not years. At how he should've _known_ , because the man was quick when it came to practically everything, either due to his impatience or passion.

“Why are you laughing?”

Sherlock sounded genuinely confused. That only made it funnier, because of course this was a reaction he didn't understand.

“No reason,” John chuckled, shaking his head. “No reason at all.”

\--

Introducing Melanie to Sherlock had started out fairly well. Sherlock hadn't been paying attention, as his focus was on his laptop entirely, and therefore telling him who the new lady in the flat was had been easy. But since John ought it rude not to at least take a look at the new guest, he'd demanded Sherlock looked away from the screen just one moment. Wrong move.

“Oh no, leave him be,” Melanie said, kind as ever. “He looks busy.”

“He always looks busy,” John deadpanned. Sherlock had used the tactic more than once so he didn't have to go through meeting anyone new, an act he found incredibly tedious.

“It's fine,” Melanie insisted. She paused in order to take a look at John's flatmate, watching him type feverishly in a way John could only dream of. He wasn't that into technology anyway. “What's he writing?”

Probably some science mumbo-jumbo no one but him understood.

“Book.”

John tensed at the mere word, and next to him Melanie grew excited. Of course. Brilliant.

“A book?” she asked, daring to take a couple steps closer to subtly look over Sherlock's shoulder. “You're a writer, then?”

“No.”

Melanie frowned, then turned to look at John, who sighed. “It's his first. He usually... does something else for a living.”

“Oh right, at Scotland Yard, right?”

John had to keep himself from grinning when Sherlock's head snapped up and he turned around to glare at him. If John had to go through Sherlock insulting his girlfriends while they were in the same room, Sherlock would have to go through feigning he was a part of the police. Everyone gained something.

“Right,” he answered a little belatedly, though Melanie hadn't noticed. With Sherlock shooting daggers at John she had a better view on the laptop, so she leaned forward to try and read a few lines. She jumped in surprise when the laptop was shut suddenly, and took a step back the moment Sherlock set his eyes on her.

“He doesn't want anyone to read it before it's finished,” John jumped in quickly, afraid of how it would all end otherwise. He'd had his girlfriends run out of the flat on multiple occasions, an experience he didn't particularly like.

“Oh, I see.”

Melanie backed down until she was standing next to John again, who granted her with a smile to try and make her feel at ease. When she looked up at him – it was delightful how tiny she was – she returned the smile brightly.

“You want some tea?”

“Please,” Melanie and Sherlock said in unison, the latter unaware of it.

“Make yourself comfortable,” John told Melanie gently before heading into the kitchen.

When the first minute there came no sound from the living room, John happily assumed Sherlock was doing what he did best – ignoring John's girlfriend. But then, as the kettle was starting to boil, he began to hear voices. The plural was the most terrifying.

He didn't have the patience to wait for the water to boil and instead entered the living room without the promised tea. He made sure to be silent, as to not draw any attention to himself and wait and see what Sherlock was doing to his girlfriend now, and witnessed a rare happening. Sherlock was actually talking to Melanie as if they were equals. It took John a few moments to register the conversation they were having, and when he did, he regretted ever bringing Melanie along.

“The superior alien takes the human with him into space, the universe, and together they solve the intergalactic crimes that come their way.”

“There's crime in outer space too?” Melanie asked with widened eyes, fascination practically pouring out of them. Sherlock didn't mind being interrupted for once, which was nearly as surprising as the fact that he was actually talking to one of John's girlfriends.

“Of course, why wouldn't there be? The more they solve together the closer they grow, until at one point–“

“The human falls in love with the alien!” Melanie exclaimed, excited.

“Wrong.” Sherlock smiled briefly at the look of surprise he received. “It's the other way around. The alien falls in love with the human.”

“Wow,” Melanie breathed. “That's even more romantic. And complicated.”

“Exactly. And when the alien realizes his feelings for the human, he's surprised to be feeling anything at all, since, as an alien, he normally didn't make use of emotions. The longer their companionship drags on, the deeper the alien falls and the more guilty he starts to feel.”

“Guilty?”

Sherlock nodded. “He's the one who dragged the human into the universe, away from his normal life on Earth, and because he loves him he's–“

“Wait,” Melanie interrupted, “The alien and the human are both men?”

“No, the human is a man,” Sherlock explained with an impatient edge to his voice, “The alien isn't human so he can't be man.”

“But he's male?”

“Yes.”

“So it's a gay love story?”

Sherlock seemed a bit surprised at Melanie's notion and blinked a couple of times as he thought over it.

“Yes, I presume it is,” he admitted slowly.

“Wow,” Melanie said once more. “That's really modern, isn't it?”

Sherlock frowned a bit but didn't reply, instead simply looking at Melanie's face. She was obviously completely into the story, the nature of the relationship not bothering her in the least. Eventually Sherlock's eyes drifted away from her and settled on John, who felt like he was snapping out of a daze when their eyes locked.

“John.”

John stared at Sherlock with his lips parted, awaiting what he was going to say.

“The kettle's boiled.”

John jumped as if he'd gotten a scare, and retreated into the kitchen hurriedly, the remnants of the story stuck in the back of his mind. Afterwards he didn't manage to get Melanie away from Sherlock, as she was too curious about the details and, especially, the ending of the book. Sherlock granted her all the details she wished to know about, clearly delighted to have someone interested for once – John realized he hadn't asked a thing about it, even after finding out the book was practically finished – but when it came to the end he seemed lost.

“I'm not sure how I want it to end,” he said, voice low as if he were deep in thought.

\--

It was a Tuesday night when John found himself staring at Sherlock's profile for at least half an hour, watching as the man stayed motionless in his chair, eyes fixated on the screen in front of him. John wasn't sure he'd blinked even once all this time.

“Stuck?” he asked helpfully, attempting to come across as casual. Sherlock grunted in response. “Can't find an ending?”

“No,” Sherlock said, “I can't find the _right_ ending.”

“Right.” John swallowed, pursed his lips. “Care to run them through with me? The endings? I might be able to help you pick one, maybe.”

Sherlock turned away from the laptop to look at John, eyes narrowed in that way as if he weren't sure John was being sarcastic. John just looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to deduce sarcasm was in no way involved.

“All right,” Sherlock eventually gave in, slowly turning back to the screen. “I've got two.”

“Two endings?”

Somehow John was a bit surprised, if not a little disappointed. He'd expected a much higher number, like sixty-three or seventy-eight, but he supposed it did make his job a bit easier, and less tiring. It wasn't like he would've stayed up all night to hear every different ending anyway, so it was kind of a relief too.

“Yes, two.”

“Okay.” John crossed his legs and leaned against the back of the sofa. “Let's hear it.”

The first ending was kind of... bleak. The alien, Kolscherk, kept his feelings to himself and would put the human, Nohj, back on Earth again. He wouldn't say goodbye, and therefore the reason of his sudden abandonment would never be known to Nohj who, according to Kolscherk, would live a happy life without him anyway. But unlike Kolscherk had thought, his own feelings didn't disappear, and since he refused to go back and take the man he loved with him again, he wandered the universe for a thousand more, unhappy years until he died a slow death, with no one by his side.

“It's possible he gets killed during an intergalactic war of some sorts but I'm not certain yet,” Sherlock added after the explanation, coming across as nonchalant despite the strange subject. As if talking about aliens was the most normal thing to do. Well, for Doctor Who fans it was, John guessed.

“It does sound a bit... sad,” he commented carefully. He knew how badly Sherlock handled critique, though this time it didn't seem to have an effect on him.

“The second ending is happier,” Sherlock said, and just hearing the word 'happier' coming out of his mouth was strange enough. “If you'd like to hear it.”

John nodded.

Kolscherk would admit his feelings to Nohj, preferably during a fight on life and death and entirely by accident, and while Nohj would be shocked at first, in the end he'd return the feelings. He would tell Kolscherk he'd never want to leave his side, because what Kolscherk gave him with all the adventures and his mere company was something no one else could give him, and even if there was another alien out there who could, Nohj would now only accept it from Kolscherk. And they'd be together, partners not only in crime but also in love, and they would travel the universe until the end of their days, growing old together and only parting in death.

It was definitely a happier ending. One John preferred over the other, but that was probably because he as an 'ordinary' human could only be satisfied with happy endings. The logical choice for someone like Sherlock to take would be the first ending, the bleak one. But Sherlock had allowed him to share his opinions, and so John would do exactly that.

“I like the sound of the last one much better, to be honest,” he said. “Though I do suppose I'm a bit of a sap.”

Sherlock was looking at him with a frown on his face, his eyes darting over John's as if he were studying him. Which he probably was.

“You think it's best for the alien to admit his feelings? Even though there's a chance he'll lose his only companion by doing so?”

“It's a happy ending,” John said with a shrug. “We already know Nohj loves him too.”

“But the alien doesn't.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Do you think he'd take that chance?”

“It's either taking the leap or being unhappy for the rest of his life, Sherlock. Which would you choose?”

Sherlock tore his gaze away from John. John gaped at him.

“You wouldn't choose eternal unhappiness, right, Sherlock?”

Sherlock remained silent. It was enough of an answer, and a shocking one at that. 

“Sherlock,” John started, “If you ever find someone you love, you've got to tell them. You of all people! How often would that happen to you, falling in love with someone? Unless,” And here John cracked a smirk. “Don't tell me – you're in love with an alien? You're Nohj?”

The idea of Sherlock using his own life as the base of his own book was thoroughly amusing. John hardly believed Sherlock was that kind of person. Sure, he had to be capable of falling in love, but he wouldn't be as sentimental to actually write about it in some twisted, science-fiction-y way, right?

“Don't be ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffed. He watched the screen.

They were back to what they'd been doing about twenty minutes ago. Sherlock aimlessly staring at the laptop and John staring at Sherlock. Like John had figured, his input hadn't been of much use.

“You want some tea?”

Though it was a tiny movement, John noticed the nod Sherlock gave him.

\--

He thought about it ever since that night. Weighing the options, trying to look at it from Sherlock's point of view and what choice would please him the most. The more he thought about it, the more difficult it was to choose.

It was strange to think Sherlock was struggling with such a dilemma; not knowing whether to let his main character find and keep true love, or push it away from him for all eternity. But then again it was exactly the sort of unimportant thing he'd find himself obsessing over. And he was, John was certain of it. He hadn't heard a thing about the case ever since that Tuesday, and every morning he came down to find Sherlock in the same position looking at the screen. John didn't even mind it was his laptop on the line, working twenty-four seven just for Sherlock. He really felt for the man, in some odd way. He wanted the book to have a satisfying ending as well.

There were times John needed the laptop, though, and however horrible he felt for doing it he'd taken the device away from Sherlock on multiple occasions. To mail his sister, his mother, a couple of friends whom he'd spent time in the army with. During those times John would tell Sherlock to go wash up or go to the toilet, because it couldn't be healthy for a person not to go that long. And Sherlock would listen, without a complaint, and leave John feeling a little less guilty.

One time, John couldn't resist. Just once he lost the internal battle with himself and he opened the minimized Word document and skimmed a couple of pages. And then he saw it. A spelling mistake. A mistake that was, ironically, not a mistake.

Instead of Nohj, there was 'John' written in its place. That was when it clicked.

The only reason he wasn't busted right away when Sherlock entered the living room again, smelling a lot more acceptable than he'd had the days before, was because Sherlock was so out of it he didn't notice a thing, or didn't bother to. John minimized the document again, finished his mail to his mother and returned the laptop to Sherlock as if it had been his all along. Sherlock didn't even notice anything when he opened his document and ended up on a page he hadn't last viewed.

\--

Two weeks later not a thing had changed. John had come down and seen Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot, but instead of heading to the kitchen to make them both some tea he went to stand beside the man. He didn't mind he wasn't spared a glance. He understood.

“I've got a title,” John said silently, earning Sherlock's attention. He seemed both surprised and curious, the perfect encouragement for John to continue. He leaned down and whispered it, as a secret, into Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock had never looked more surprised, and for once, John didn't feel the urge to laugh.

\--

**Tell Me Soon**

**a science-fiction novel by Sherlock Holmes**

\--

“How did you come up with this magnificent story, Mr. Holmes?”

“Sherlock, please. I'm afraid it wasn't all imagination. The main story was taken from my personal experience.”

“With which you mean you've had an alien fall for you?”

“Of course not, that's impossible. I rather identified myself with the alien.”

“So you were the one who fell in love?”

“Exactly.”

“And did your human return your feelings?”

“I'm happy to say that he did, and still does.”

John turned off the TV and turned to Sherlock with a smile that felt too sappy for words. Sherlock turned to him as well, though he looked more confused than anything.

“Why did you do that?”

“I don't need to hear more,” John said, and leaned up to kiss Sherlock.


End file.
